


Heard You Were a Wild One

by Largishcat



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending for the Three Drunksketeers, Intoxication, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, bottom!Robert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Largishcat/pseuds/Largishcat
Summary: "What I'm trying to say is, I know we put a pin in this whole you-and-me thing, but I think it might be time to, like, revisit that?" You trail off. This speech sounded more convincing in your head. "Um," you say, "you already have my number. Date me, maybe?"





	Heard You Were a Wild One

**Author's Note:**

> I will not apologize.
> 
> I'm just kidding, I'm so sorry. Dadsona/Robert fluff and nothing.
> 
> A million thanks to [goethes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goethes/pseuds/goethes), who was the best beta a human of indeterminate gender could hope for.

"Oh my God," you say to Robert at Mary's Thank-God-I'm-Finally-Getting-Divorced Party, the two of you sprawled over a couch, your legs thrown over his lap. Most of the regulars from Jim and Kim's are here. You may be a little bit very drunk. Even after two years of being the third member of Robert and Mary's very exclusive drinking club, you still can't actually go drink for drink with either of them.

Robert has three shirt buttons open and the scar on his chest is peeking out. You are having a lot of trouble dealing with that right now.

"Oh my _God_ ," you continue, "look, Robert, my pal."

"'Pal,'" Robert repeats, but the corners of his mouth are twitching, so you know he's amused. 

You’ve made a careful study of Robert’s facial expressions over the years. You even have some favorites: the up-too-late squint, the fucking-with-you smirk, the little curl his mouth does when a song he likes comes on the radio, and this one, the flat looks he gives you when he wants you to think he’s annoyed, but isn’t. 

You want very badly to press your thumb to the corner of his mouth and feel that curve for yourself, but you can’t. You have something very important that you’ve been meaning to say for three weeks, four days, and, like, six hours. You’re not sure how many hours. But, it’s important, and you know deep in your soul that if you don’t say it now, with liquid courage warming your veins, it might be another three weeks before you psych yourself up again.

" _Listen,_ " you insist. "I just want you--I just need you to know that I'm proud of you, buddy. You're doing, like, really good. You're totally smiling more, and not drinking so much--just fun amounts of drinking-- you haven't been arrested once since," you do a quick calculation on your fingers, "Saint Patrick's Day _last_ year. You're showering--"

"But not every day, because that strips the natural oils from your hair and skin," Robert adds, smiling openly now.

"Right." You nod enthusiastically, glad you're both on the same page. "And I know you think you've still got a long way to go, and, like, yeah, self-improvement is a never ending journey and stuff. But wow, dude, you've like, made some really impressive changes for the better." You take another sip of your drink nervously. The glass clinks against your teeth. Robert looks touched, but also like he's five seconds away from bursting out laughing. "What I'm trying to say is, I know we put a pin in this whole you-and-me thing, but I think it might be time to, like, revisit that?" You trail off. This speech sounded more convincing in your head. "Um," you say, "you already have my number, date me maybe?"

Robert does laugh then. Cackles like a witch, actually, although you politely refrain from commenting on it. Truly, your self-control is legendary.

"I should shove you right off this damn couch for making that reference," he says, then hiccups, which is adorable.

"Hey, you got that reference. What does that say about you?"

"I have a history with that song," Robert says, his smile dropping. He looks you dead in the eye. "In Afghanistan, my unit got jumped a few clicks outside of Herat. We weren't even supposed to be there, but some asshole militants had blown up the highways, so we were taking a detour. Those same militants ambushed us. Or," Robert shrugged, "fuck, it could have been completely different guys. Not like they introduced themselves.

"They told us afterwards that we'd only been prisoners for eight days. It felt like longer. Felt like years. They kept us all separate." Robert shudders. "Barely let us sleep. Tried to get _information_ out of us. Wouldn't believe that we didn't know shit--not like our superiors ever bothered to explain why the fuck we were driving to this city, or shooting those people, or guarding that convoy.

"There was this one guy. I don't think he cared if we knew shit or not. He was there for the journey not the destination, if you know what I mean. I never saw his face, but I always knew when it was him, because he kept this tiny radio clipped to his belt. Always on. Always tuned to some pop music station. And you know what was always fucking playing when he was "working" on me?" Robert leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face. "Carly Rae Jepsen."

"I know," you say, struggling to keep a straight face. "That man was me. I've been searching for you all these years, and now I've finally got you back in my grasp."

Robert blinks, the he cracks the fuck up. You laugh with him.

"Is Herat even a real city," you ask once you've both calmed down.

"Oh yeah," Robert says. "Third most populous in Afghanistan. Got some real beautiful architecture, according to Wikipedia."

"Dude, how much research do you do for your stories?"

"Dude," Robert widens his eyes at you, and for a second he looks young and carefree. You wonder if that's how he looked twenty years ago, "so much."

You snicker helplessly into your drink. "But, for real," you say, "if you're not ready, I don't want to pressure you, but I think we should talk about it."

Robert opens his mouth and--

"Hey, losers," Mary says, leaning over the back of the couch. The familiar scent of wine and perfume wafts over you. "What lame shit are you talking about?"

"If we should start dating or not," Robert says, surprisingly honest.

Mary's eyes widen, but she recovers quickly. "Oh my God," she drawls, "please. Put me out of my misery. You've only been making googly eyes at each other for years. Maybe I'll finally be able to drink in peace without having to watch you two dumbasses eye-fuck each other over the table."

"Uh," you say.

"And," she whispers, leaning in even closer, "if you guys are really my friends, you will enter into an exclusive monogamous relationship immediately, right this second, before my husband gets the chance to try and sleep with either of you." She pauses. "My ex-husband," she says slowly, relishing the words. "You knew he wanted to fuck you, right?" she asks you.

"I guessed," you say, uncomfortable.

"He _did_ fuck Robert."

Your head whips around and Robert winces. "I said I was sorry about that," he says.

"And I said I forgave you," Mary says. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to give you shit." She shrugs. "But it was a long time ago, and we've all moved on." She and Robert share a small, private glance, and she gives him a real smile. "Fucking finally."

"To moving forward," you say, holding out your glass. Robert grins and Mary says "fuck yeah" and you all clink.

The three of you end up lying on top of each other on the couch like drunk teenagers. Instead of the drunk forty-somethings you are.

"I'll be fifty soon," Robert says.

"You're o-o-old," Mary says, burying her giggles into your shoulder. "And this guy's a baby." She pokes you in the forehead. You stick your tongue out at her. You're not that much younger than them.

"But, really," she says, "you guys make each other happy and all that sappy shit. If you want to hook up at my divorce party, you have my blessing." She pushes herself shakily to her feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go hit on," she scans the crowd for a likely victim, "that guy." She saunters off towards the guy, who looks about twenty, and freezes when he spies her stalking towards him. Prey instincts.

"Poor kid," Robert comments.

"Yeah," you say.

"I want to stay until the end of the party," he tells you, "for Mary. Also for the free booze. But we can go to my place afterwards, if you want. Talk."

You nod, and the two of you share a smile.

You do stay for a while longer. Long enough that by the time you're walking back to Robert's house, you're on your way to sober. If there's a little staggering it's almost entirely due to it being two AM, and you being much too old to be up this late. You lean against Robert's shoulder as he fishes out his keys. It's comfortable and familiar, like all the other times you've crashed at his place after a night of drinking, and sometimes ghost hunting.

Although, you think, you might not be sleeping on the couch this time. A little thrill runs through you, some strange mixture of excitement and nerves.

"Uh," Robert says, once you make your way into the kitchen, uncharacteristically awkward, "beer?" He hasn't bothered to switch on the overhead lights. There's nothing but the street lamps filtering in through the windows. Dim, yellow light illuminating the room.

You shake your head. "I'm done drinking for the night." No more booze, please.

"Right." Robert winces. "Me too. Too late for coffee?"

"Way too late."

Robert opens the fridge, scrunching his face up against the harsh light. "Fucking... orange juice?"

You grin at the back of his head. You're glad he feels as off-kilter as you do. "Sure."

You sit your butt down at the kitchen island and accept the glass of O.J. Robert slides to you. He sits next to you, taking a long sip from his own glass. "So, I'm actually pretty fucking terrified right now," he says. He pauses for a long, long time, but you let the silence stretch. You know him well enough to know when he wants to be pushed, and when he's just psyching himself up to talk about his feelings. "I've... wanted this," he continues, sure enough, "for a long time now. And I knew I wasn't ready for it before. That if we tried back then I would have been a shitty boyfriend, and screwed it up somehow. I've been pretty shitty at relationships for most of my life."

"You're--" _being too hard on yourself_ , you start to say, but Robert doesn't let you finish.

"No," he says, "I have. That's just a fact. And you're one of the most genuinely _nice_ people I've ever met. Just because you make me happy doesn't mean I have the right to toss all my baggage at you. I know that. I wanted to start trying to do better in general."

You nod, you've heard most of this before, or at least snatches of it. "If you're still not ready, that's fine, you know," you tell him.

"No, no, no, that's not what I'm trying to say." Robert rests his face in his palms. "I'll probably never stop sucking at talking about my feelings. I've been thinking about this too, is what I'm trying to get at. Especially lately. Sometimes I stare at my ceiling at night and think about this. Should I ask, have I waited too long already. Am I just being selfish if I ask you to go steady now, maybe you've already moved on--"

You kiss him. Words are overrated sometimes.

There's an airless moment where you wonder if he's not going to kiss back, but then his lips open under yours in a sigh. He leans into you, his hands coming up to cup your face. You realize you have no idea what to do with your own hands and silently panic until Robert's tongue slips into your mouth, and then it's impossible to concentrate on anything else at all.

It's been a very long time since you two touched each other like this. You've been so careful not to push, not to blur the lines. To be a good friend.

It's just as good as you remember.

Robert pulls back and you suppress your noise of disappointment.

"Sorry," you say, suddenly not sure if you overstepped.

Robert shakes his head. "Don't be." He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, and you can't help but lean into it. "I'm just drunk and ready to pass out, and I'd rather be sober and awake the first time we, you know," he grins, "fuck."

You feel your face heating up. Robert starts to snicker, than you start to giggle, then you're leaning against each other at the little kitchen island, shaking.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" Robert asks.

"Oh my God, yes."

Robert grabs your hand and tugs you to the bedroom. You stand, awkward and unsure, in the doorway, but then Robert tugs off his shirt and kicks off his jeans and belly flops onto the bed. It's cute as shit. You undress to your t-shirt and boxers and join him.

You start drifting off almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. "Goodnight," you mumble. You manage to keep your eyes open long enough to see Robert's nose scrunch up as he makes his sleepy-annoyed face. It's one of his more adorable faces.

"Mmrgh-mmph," Robert says. He fumbles for you hand and presses a wet kiss to your knuckles. "Shut up."

You fall asleep smiling, your fingers tangled with Robert's.

You don't wake up smiling. You try to open your eyes but sunlight stabs your corneas like two knitting needles and nope, that was a bad idea. Eyes open bad.

"Jesus H. Christ," comes Robert's voice from next to you. You wish you could open your eyes, because you think you remember him taking his shirt off last night, but you don't want to chance it.. You learn from your mistakes. The bed bounces as Robert gets up, and the slight jostling is _very_ unpleasant.

Suddenly the room gets a lot dimmer. You risk a look, and see that Robert has drawn the black out curtains.

"Should have done that last night," Robert mutters under his breath. He is indeed very shirtless. And pantless. Half-naked, one could say. You wish you didn't want to die so much, so you could appreciate it properly.

"Ugh, fuck," Robert says. You grunt in agreement.

Robert stumbles off towards the bathroom, and you close your eyes again, doing your best to slip back into unconsciousness. It's a losing battle. You are, despite your best efforts,too well-rested to go back to sleep.

Someone flicks the tip of your nose. It's Robert, offering you a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers.

"Thanks," you say. Your voice sounds like you've been gargling broken glass. You take three pills and guzzle the water, hating life.

Robert's wandered out of the bedroom again, so you set the glass and the advil down on the nightstand, and get unsteadily to your feet. Your stomach lurches and you double-time it to the bathroom, where you, thankfully, don't actually throw up. You squint at your own face in the mirror. You’re too old for this.

You crash at Robert's often enough that you've got a toothbrush here. Which is good, because the inside of your mouth tastes like the aftermath of a war. You apply toothpaste liberally, then wander out into hallway when your done.

The smell of something frying guides you into the kitchen, where Robert is poking at some eggs with a spatula. He's thrown an apron on over his boxers, but otherwise hasn't gotten dressed. You admire the view. He's tied the apron strings into a neat bow which rests on the small of his back, drawing attention to the swell of his ass. You wonder if he planned that, or if he's even awake enough for complex thoughts. What time is it?

You check the clock on the microwave. It's 1:24. Amanda would be proud of you for sleeping in this late.

Robert looks over his shoulder at you. "You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna grab some plates and cups and shit?"

You grab some plates and cups and shit. To your delight, you discover Robert's brewed fresh coffee. You help yourself.

The dark, caffeiney goodness, along with greasy eggs and buttery toast, goes a long way towards making you feel human again. Robert takes off the apron at one point, and sits shirtless at the table, close enough that you can see the sparse scatter of freckles across his shoulders.

"So," Robert says as you're taking another long, luxurious sip, "you remember the thing with the Canadian goose and that guy who keeps giving us his head shots last night, right? Because you were pretty sloshed. I don't want you to get confused when Amanda calls you up from college talking about head shot guy's relatives hunting her down, screaming about a blood feud. I've already given Val the head's up, but we might want to think about getting Amanda some weapons training."

You make calm and pointed eye contact with Robert over the rim of your mug, making sure he knows that if he wants a spit take, he's going to have to try harder than that. You cock an eyebrow. "Do you really think I've neglected Amanda's training so egregiously that she wouldn't be able to fight off _Quinn's_ family with her bare hands? You insult me."

Robert shakes his head, grinning, and lets the joke go, giving you the last word. He leans over, resting his elbows on the table. "I thought about going for the classic 'we got married last night, don't you remember' thing--Mary would have backed me up about officiating it. Added legitimacy because--"

"She paid thirteen dollars last year to become an ordained minister online and piss Joseph off," you finish. That had been an interesting weekend.

"Yeah," Robert laughed, "I thought it might be a little too on the nose, though." He becomes serious for a moment. "You do actually remember last night, right? What we talked about?"

You nod and Robert's shoulders relax. You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little sheepish over what you do remember from last night. "I can't believe I asked you to be my boyfriend using Carly Rae Jepsen lyrics."

"I know, it was awful," Robert says, with obvious delight.

Hands over your face, you sink down on your stool. You're playing up the embarrassment a little--you only half want to crawl into one of the kitchen cabinets and hide for the next five years.

"Hey," Robert is tugging one of your hands away from your face, "it was cute." He presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "You're cute."

"Oh, yeah?" you smile.

"The fucking cutest."

You both lean in and then you're kissing. Robert rotates his hand, tangling your fingers together, and then he's pulling back, breaking the kiss and tugging you along with him towards the bedroom. It's a mirror image of last night, except now there's afternoon light streaming in through the windows, and you're awake and sober. And, you think giddily, definitely about to have sex.

The blackout curtains are still drawn and the bedroom is dim. Robert kisses you again in the low-light, at the foot of the bed. You let him push you back and you hit the wrinkled sheets already tangled together. You grasp as Robert shoves his hands under your t-shirt, and wriggle to help him get it up and off. Then you're pressed chest to chest, and you haven't showered yet so you're pretty sure you smell, and so does Robert honestly, but he's always been good at making unwashed and mildly sweaty look hot.

The skin contact is intoxicating.

"Fuck," Robert breaths into your mouth, which just about summarizes your thoughts on the matter too. You shove your hand down the front of his boxer's because you've wanted this for too long to be coy now. You swallow Robert's surprised gasp, and wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, your other hand clumsily shoving his boxers down over his hips.

"God fucking dammit," Robert hisses, his hips jerking into your grip. He buries a groan in your neck. Obligingly, you tilt your head to the side and feel his teeth. You wonder if you're going to regret letting him mark you up later, but then you remember that you work from home, and don't actually _have_ to ever leave the house. "Oh shit, stop, stop, stop," Robert says and you freeze. "I don't wanna come before I even get you naked," he explains, pulling back. He rolls off you and kicks his boxers the rest of the way off. You sit up, pushing your own underwear off. You toss it somewhere to the side, not bothering to see where it lands.

You take a moment to take in the acres of warm skin exposed to you. Scattered moles, some tattoos, the healed over gashes across his chest from that biking accident, a few other scars you don't know the stories to. Wiry, dark hair across his chest and down his stomach. Robert's actually hairy as fuck, which you knew already, but are somehow so much more _aware_ of now. It's a little scary how much you're into it.

"Enjoying the view?" Robert teases, leaning back on his elbows on the mattress, posing.

"Yes," you tell him honestly. He smiles, and beckons you with one hand. Eagerly, you roll on top of him, lowering yourself down until the two of you flush, his legs to either side of yours. You grind together for a few, delicious seconds, kissing deep and wet.

Then Robert pulls back, and murmurs into your lips, "I want you to fuck me," and your head nearly explodes.

"Okay," you say dumbly, and Robert grins.

"Condoms and lube over there," he says, waving lazily at the nightstand. You move faster than someone your age has any right to.

The bottle of lube and condom packets hit the bed by Robert's hip. You catch his eye. He's looking up at you with a little smirk twisting his lips, and such unadulterated affection in his eyes that you feel your heart wrench. You press a kiss to the inside of his knee, and his legs fall open, as eager as you.

You haven't let yourself think about it--you have, in fact, been actively _avoiding_ thinking about Robert and sex for a long time--but now that he's here, spread out before you, there is nothing you want more than to be inside him. Immediately right now. This second.

Your eyes rake down Robert's body, landing on his cock. Lying hard against his stomach. He's thick and blood-warm and uncut and you were half expecting him to have some crazy piercings down here, but no, there's nothing but soft, hot, _soft_ skin. Even with the urgency, with his cock hard and twitching and _right there_ , you can't resist leaning in for a taste. There's just a hint a precome, tangy, at the tip, and Robert groans above you as you close your lips around the head, swirling your tongue.

It's been a while, but you're good at this. And it's like riding a bike, if you want to indulge in some classic cliches. You slide down farther, experimenting, enjoying the sounds you wrench out of Robert's throat.

"For fuck's sake," Robert grits out, "do I have to draw you a diagram? _Fuck me_. Take your stupid, beautiful cock and _bury_ it in my ass. I'm trying to get screwed into next week here, so if you'd do me a favor--"

You've got your fingers slicked up and pushing into Robert's hole before he can finish, the tail end of his sentence becoming a choked groan. His hips buck, grinding down onto your fingers. This is literally the most turned on you've ever been in your life.

You withdraw your fingers and shuffle around a bit, slipping on a condom, lining up. "Yeah," Robert breaths, and you push in, slow, slow, until you've bottomed out.

You need to pause for a moment there, feeling Robert's muscles tight and rippling around you. You grind your hips, not really thrusting, and feel Robert shiver under you.

Robert's mouth opens as you start to move, and you press a kiss to his wet bottom lip. Your eyes slip shut at one point and you open them just in time to see Robert mouthing "fuck" soundlessly at the ceiling. You feel a little smug.

You can feel Robert slowly relaxing around you, so you lengthen your thrusts, letting the lube really do its job. Robert's twitches and he makes a little " _ah_ " noise on a particularly long thrust, so you do it again, drawing almost all the way out, before pushing all the way back in.

Robert's entire body jolts like he'd received an electric shock. Okay, yes, you can work with this. You keep up the rhythm and the pace. Long drags out and slow slides in. Robert's shuddering breaths are very loud in the still room.

Experimentally, you let yourself slip all the way out, then thrust back in. Fast.

" _Fucking_ motherfuck--" Robert grabs for his cock like a lifeline, his head slamming back into the pillows. You grin. You can feel sweat dripping down your back, and your hands on Robert's thighs are beginning to slide. You grip tighter, watching Robert's face closely for a reaction.

If there is a reaction, you miss it, because Robert wraps his legs around your hips, tugging you in close, and your eyes kind of stop working for a bit. Robert reaches up, drawing you into a biting kiss. "I told you what I want," he whispers into your lips. "Put your back into it."

You sink your teeth into the meat of his shoulder, bracing against the mattress. Underneath you, you can feel Robert shudder. You put your back into it.

Robert drags the blunt tips of the fingers of one hand down your back. Your entire world narrows to a series of points. The sound of Robert's panting breath, the bump of his knuckles against your stomach as he strokes himself, the _maddening_ pleasure of being inside him, his free hand as it strokes restlessly over whatever patch of skin it can reach.

Pressure begins the build at the base of your spine. You grab for Robert's free hand, twining your fingers together and clutching tight. Robert grips you back. You can't see his face because you've squeezed your eyes shut, but you think he must be smiling his crooked smile with the teeth.

It's all you can do not to completely collapse on top of him when you come. You brace yourself awkwardly on one hand and watch Robert's face with a hazy kind of awe, as he strips his cock fast enough his hand almost blurs. He comes with his teeth gritted and his eyes screwed shut, a pained noise low in his throat. Slowly, he relaxes, letting his hands thump back onto the mattress.

You withdraw carefully, and tie off the condom. To your amazement and quiet pride, you manage to accurately toss it into the trash bin tucked in the corner by Robert's desk. You are just completely winning today. Not bad, considering how much you had craved death only a couple hours ago.

Robert interrupts your thoughts by grabbing you by the back of the neck, and pulling you down to sprawl against his chest.

"Don't tell anyone I like to cuddle," he mumbles, not opening his eyes. "I'll deny it."

"Who'd believe me?"

"Exactly."

You bury your smile in Robert's warm skin, and feel his chuckle vibrate through his chest. You blink your eyes open and focus on Robert's face. His eyes are closed, the corners of his mouth curling up. He looks content. You study the streaks of gray in his hair, and the little white hairs that have begun popping up in his stubble. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the slight upturn at the tip of his nose, the flash of pink tongue as he wets his lips. With a ferventness that's almost painful, you hope you’ll see this face every day for the rest of your life.


End file.
